Bonnie Always Wanted to Look Good.
Bonnie gave me permission to do all the things I’d been trying not to do.
Breaking rules was big on Bonnie’s list of favorite things to do. She refused to set an alarm for class, so skipping classes became a regular occurrence. Stealing things from the snack bar, the bar, the store … that wasn’t “really” breaking the law. Driving drunk was okay when she borrowed her parents’ car. And to think, I’d been afraid to go more than a week without doing laundry.
As a freshman, I was enamored with all the opportunities at Mount Union: parties, sports, clubs, games, orientation. Bonnie was a freshman when I was a junior, but she rebelled against college-sponsored activities. She even suggested we go to bars other than The Hood – which was very new for me. By the time I graduated, Bonnie was adamant that Mount Union was beneath her; she transferred to a larger college.
In spite of her rebellion, Bonnie always wanted to look good. In this way, we were complete opposites. Her dedication to appearance felt like the opposite of rebellion, like she was trying overwhelmingly hard to conform.
It didn’t matter where we were going or what we were doing, Bonnie’s main loyalty was to her hair and makeup. This is very natural for many females – but Bonnie’s routine seemed extreme.
I woke up on the floor of her room in last night’s clothes, brushed my teeth and hair, rubbed off any eyeliner smudges, then plopped back down on Bonnie’s floor to wait.
Bonnie’s rule was to wash her hair once every three days. On wash day, she put her hair in enormous curlers, then sat under a hair dryer attached to the wall for three hours, unable to do much of anything but sit. I grabbed things for her from across the room, changed the album when it ended, and generally served her for those three hours. Every three days. For two years.
When her hair was finally properly dried and her natural curls entirely negated, Bonnie moved to her desk to do her makeup. There was no schoolwork on the desk; it was just cosmetics. She had foundation and powder, 27 shades of eye shadow, eyeliners and sharpeners and eyelash curlers, varying brands and colors of lip liner, gloss and lipstick, and separate rouges for each area of cheekbone. She worked meticulously to apply colors that provided the illusion of perfection.
Then Bonnie removed the giant curlers and started fixing her hair before considering what she would wear. Choosing clothes was an ordeal that either took two minutes or two hours – with unchosen clothes piled unceremoniously all over the floor.
Sometimes getting ready to go out took eight hours.
Years later, Bonnie and I were exploring Pittsburgh when a couple of guys offered to take us midnight motorcycle riding. This sounded like great fun to me – racing through the night, wind blowing through our hair, gawking at the stars.
Bonnie refused to go.
“But why not?” I asked, genuinely perplexed. Bonnie was usually up for anything.
It took a long time for her to answer. Finally, she pulled me aside so the guys couldn’t hear her and whispered: “My face. It’s all I have. If anything happens to my face….”
She trailed off.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. Her face?
Although I’d never heard her say anything even remotely similar, she sounded sincere. In fact, it may have been the most sincere thing I ever heard her say.
And it’s the only time I ever saw fear in Bonnie’s eyes.